Nothing To Worry About
by ameerawrites
Summary: John's overdue and it's taking its toll on his and Sherlock's relationship.


Not beta'd - all mistakes are my own :)

Set in the same universe as "Going to Be Okay"

* * *

"At this point, John, the safest thing for you and the baby is to induce labour."

Before his OB/GYN even finishes the sentence John is shaking his head.

"I still have 4 more days until I hit the 42 week mark. We can wait a couple more days before completely abandoning my birth plan," John retorts. He's planned on a low-intervention, natural birth since he found out he was pregnant. He and Sherlock had waited before trying to get pregnant and as a result it had taken longer than they anticipated. In John's mind, this baby is a miracle and he was going to let the baby come when he or she was ready.

"While it is possible to wait until the 42 week mark the risk of complications increase the longer we wait," the doctor explains patiently. At the mention of complications Sherlock's head snaps up. He'd been trying to be supportive of John's wishes but when it came to John's health Sherlock wouldn't compromise.

"What kinds of complications?" Sherlock inquires.

"Placental insufficiency, cord compression, deficiency of amniotic fluid, meconium aspiration, emergency cesarean section or stillbirth," the doctor lists. Sherlock has grown more and more tense throughout the list. John grabs his hand and begins rubbing circles on the back of Sherlock's hand with his thumb.

"Those are all worst case scenarios," he states, giving the doctor his fiercest Captain Watson glare. "Are there any indications or symptoms of these complications so far?"

"Well, no but..." the doctor starts.

"Then there's nothing to worry about" John's voice is definitive.

"But John," Sherlock turns to his husband and cups John's cheek in his hand, "if there's any possible chance these things could happen shouldn't we do anything possible to prevent it?" Sherlock's eyes are pleading with John and John can tell Sherlock is terrified. He's been on edge throughout John's entire pregnancy. Being over 40, John automatically qualifies as a high risk pregnancy. As soon as Sherlock heard this, he insisted that John stop working and did everything in his power to keep John off his feet. Around the 6 month mark, Sherlock was in a horrific car accident, bringing John's world to a halt. Thankfully, Sherlock had made a full recovery and everything is back on track.

"Sherlock there are just as many risks when inducing labor. According to everything we know, our baby is healthy. Why would we do anything that could change that?" John takes a deep breath and continues. "Love, everything is going to be fine. Obviously, our little one is quite stubborn and has his or her own sense of timing. When the baby is ready to come we'll know." John uses his free hand to take the hand resting on his cheek and bring it to his large belly. He moves Sherlock's hand around until he finds the right spot. "Feel that? The baby wants to let Daddy know that there's nothing to worry about." John smiles.

"Okay," Sherlock acquiesces, "but will you promise me that if you haven't started labour in 4 days that we'll come to the hospital for an induction?"

"Promise," John agrees.

"Right," the doctor interrupts, "why don't we set an appointment for Saturday, just in case?"

"Fine," is John's clipped response. He knows that doctor is trying to be cautious but he really wishes that everyone would just leave him alone and stop worrying. They set up the appointment with minimal fuss and Sherlock takes John home.

* * *

The stairs have been taking twice as long as they used to but John refuses Sherlock's help. Sherlock quietly follows John, hand read to steady John should he falter. John stops to take a rest, leaning on the banister. Sherlock places his hand on John's lower back in an effort to comfort his husband.

"I'm fine, Sherlock!" John snaps as he pushes Sherlock's hand away. "I'm not a bloody invalid! I'm pregnant!"

Sherlock is taken aback by John's outburst. He knows that the stress of the overdue pregnancy is getting to both of them but he can't help but be hurt by John's words. John, realizing he's overreacted, turns to Sherlock.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I think I'm in need of a lie down." John waddles up the rest of the stairs and into the flat. He immediately heads to the couch and lies down on his side. His eyes close almost immediately and by the time Sherlock is in the flat his breathing has slowed and evened out. Sherlock perches in his chair, his eyes never leaving John. He thinks back to the time he spent recuperating from his car accident in the flat. John's patience was endless. Even when Sherlock lashed out from the boredom, John never struck back. John endured countless incidents without voicing one complaint, all the while taking care of their unborn child. Sherlock knows that it is his chance to demonstrate the same care for John but the strain on their relationship is taking it's toll.

Sherlock decides that some tea with John's favorite biscuits would comfort John when he woke up. He takes the box of custard creams from the cupboard and puts the kettle on the stove, waiting for the tell tale signs of John waking from his nap. _There's nothing to worry about. There's nothing to worry about_. Sherlock repeated in his mind.

* * *

John wakes to the smell of freshly brewed tea, camomile with honey. It's the only one he's been able to stomach through the pregnancy. Just as he sits up, Sherlock brings in a tray with two cups and a plate of biscuits.

"I thought you could use a pick me up after the doctor's appointment," Sherlock explains as he sets the tray down on the table. He sits down next to John on the couch and John slides his arm around Sherlock's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

"Thank you," John whispers as their lips break apart and his forehead rests against Sherlock's. "I know I've been a right git lately and that's not fair to you."

"I understand. I know it can't be easy and I'm trying to understand. I'm just worried about you," Sherlock confesses.

"There's nothing to worry about," John comforts. John releases Sherlock and turns to the tea tray. Just as he's about to pick up his teacup, his mobile buzzes in his pocket. With a frustrated sigh, he digs it out and looks at the screen.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asks.

"Greg," John replies, "He couldn't be calling about a case, could he?"

"I told him I wouldn't be taking anything for awhile," Sherlock answers, baffled. John swipes the screen to answer the call and brings the phone up to his ear.

"Hey Greg!" he greets.

"Hullo John," Greg responds. "How are you doing?"

"Okay, grumpy and tired but that's nothing new. How are you?"

"Doing well, thanks for asking. I was just calling to see how everything was going with the new baby. We hadn't heard from you or Sherlock in awhile and we just assumed you lot have had your hands full."

"Actually, Greg, the baby hasn't come yet," John explains as calmly as he can. Sherlock begins to rub John's back in an effort to soothe him.

"Blimey, John! Aren't you well past your due date?" Greg exclaims.

"Right you are, Greg. Thank you for reminding me," John quips. "Did you really think we wouldn't call you when the baby came?"

"I dunno. Figured you had other things on your mind."

"Well rest assured that you'll be among the first to know when the little one here decides to show up."

"I can't believe you haven't tried to get the baby going. You must be at what...42 weeks?" Greg laughs.

"41 weeks and 3 days," John corrects through grit teeth.

"You must be about ready to pop! Have you tried eating spicy food?" John cuts off Greg's suggestion by hanging up the phone.

"Seriously?!" he shouts as he stands up and begins to pace the living room. "Why is everyone so concerned with _my _pregnancy. Why does everyone feel the need to give their input into _my _pregnancy. It's my body that's been taken over to be used as an incubator. I know what's happening and I'll know if something doesn't feel right. Why do we need to rush the baby? Why does everyone want to seem to take him or her from me?"

"John, you should probably sit back down. You need to calm down, it isn't good for the baby." Sherlock tries to wrap his arms around an infuriated John.

"Don't tell me what isn't good for the baby!" John rails as he pushes Sherlock away. "Do you think I'm trying to hurt the baby? Do you think I want something to go wrong?" Tears are beginning to fill John's eyes.

"Of course not..." Sherlock begins,

"I want the baby to be here just as much as anyone else but I'm not going to risk his or her health just because some doctor or detective inspector or consulting detective thinks it's the right thing to do!" John storms off to their bedroom. "You can sleep out there tonight!" he shouts over his shoulder as he slams the door.

Sherlock stands frozen for a few moments, stunned at what just happened. He sinks into his chair and drops his head into his hands. His mind is racing with concerns for John's blood pressure, their relationship and what could happen next. He runs his hands through his curls a couple times and decides to focus on something else. He cleans up the tea and begins researching for a new experiment.

* * *

The next two days pass with minimal communication. Sherlock tends to his experiments, composes some new music for the baby and works on his laptop. John reads, cleans and sleeps. Any time Sherlock tries to start a conversation he is met with short, clipped responses from John. Sherlock has no idea how long this can go on. He is going out of his mind with worry. _Would John tell him if something was wrong? Is John in pain? Does John need help? Should John be on his feet this much?_ An infinite loop of questions run through his mind.

On the afternoon of the second day, Mrs. Hudson climbs the stairs to the apartment to check on her boys. She can tell from the lack of noise upstairs that something isn't right. John is reading a child development book on the couch while Sherlock makes a snack in the kitchen.

"Oh you poor dear," she coos as she sees John, "how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson," John replies without looking up from his book.

"It can't be comfortable, just waiting," she attempts to make conversation.

"No it's not, but the baby will come when the baby comes." John repeats his mantra.

"Have you tried eating some curry, dear? I could bring you some takeaway," she offers. Sherlock rushes into the room, anticipating John's reaction.

"Why can't everyone just leave well enough alone?" John shouts, slamming the book on the floor and standing up. Mrs. Hudson gasps in surprise. "I have no desire to induce labor naturally or chemically. It is not..." John abruptly stops his rant and grabs the underside of his belly. Sherlock watches as a patch of wetness moves down John's trouser leg and begins to puddle on the floor.

"John?" Sherlock queries.

"I think it's time to go to the hospital, love," John affirms with a smile. Mrs. Hudson runs downstairs to call a cab, while Sherlock runs to the room to grab the hospital bag. "Get me some new trousers, please," John calls. Sherlock returns with the aforementioned trousers and the hospital bag.

"Are you okay? What else do you need? Are you sure you don't want an ambulance?" Sherlock's questions come tumbling out.

"Everything's fine," John assures him. "Help me put on the other trousers and get down the stairs, yeah?" Sherlock does exactly what John asks and the cab is waiting as they exit the front door.

"Good luck, dears!" Mrs. Hudson waves as the cab drives off.

* * *

Labour is horrifying. The past two days couldn't even begin to compare watching John endure each contraction ripple through his body. Sherlock did everything he remembered reading and learning in the birthing class. He rubbed John's back. He helped rotate John's hips to relieve some of the pressure. He balanced John on the birthing ball. He fed John ice chips. He whispered encouraging words into John's ear. Yet it was never enough.

"He's progressing well," confirmed John's doctor, after performing another dilation check. "Unfortunately, it's going to be difficult because he's overdue." With that the doctor left John to continue labouring.

"See? Nothing to worry about," John reiterated.

"I'm supposed to be the one comforting you," Sherlock laughs as he squeezes John's hand.

"And you're doing a wonderful job," John squeezes back and then rolls to his side as another contraction begins. John tries to relax and listen to Sherlock's soothing voice.

"Try to relax your muscles, love. You're doing amazing. Soon we're going to meet our little son or daughter. You are so incredible." Sherlock kisses John's forehead and runs his hands through John's hair. John hums in appreciation.

* * *

18 hours later, it's finally time for John to push and he's on the verge of giving up.

"I can't do it, Sherlock," he whimpers. "I'm tired. It's too hard." The staff is getting the equipment ready and John's doctor is putting on his gown.

"You can do it, John," he insists. "Look how much you've already done. You've come so far. There's only this little bit left and it will all be over."

"I can't, Sherlock, I can't," John repeated. Sherlock doesn't know what else he can do. None of the doctor's or nurses seem concerned or to be even listening to the conversation. Sherlock acts on impulse and climbs into the bed behind John. He intertwines both his hands with John's and allows John to lean back against him.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes, I don't think..." one of the nurses begins.

"I don't care what you think!" he snaps. "My husband is the one giving birth and I'll do whatever it takes to help him." There were no further arguments as John's legs were placed in the stirrups.

"All right, John," says the doctor, "with the next contraction I want you to curl your body into a "c" shape, chin to your chest, and give me a big push. We'll try for three, ten-count pushes during each contraction. Got it?"

John nods weakly and sits up a bit, preparing himself.

"I'm right here," Sherlock whispers, "I'll be here the whole time. Nothing to worry about."

"Okay, John, here we go." The doctor positions himself between John's legs on the stool. John takes a deep breath and pushes.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," Sherlock counts

"Again," the doctor says.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

"One more time, John," the doctor encourages.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." John flops back against Sherlock as the contraction fades. Sherlock places a kiss on John's cheek.

"You're doing really well, love."

It continues like this for the better part of an hour and finally during one of the pushes John lets out a groan and cries out,

"It burns! Jesus Christ, it burns!"

"John, I need you to pant. Little pushes," the doctor instructs. Sherlock starts panting so John has a pattern to follow. John squeezes Sherlock's hands harder than ever. After the longest 30 seconds of John's life, he feels the head slide out.

"Ow, ow, ow," he whimpers.

"Great job, John. I'm going to check for the cord so I need you to breathe through the next contraction," the doctor directs.

John turns his face to the crook of Sherlock's neck as he tries to resist the urge to push. Sherlock places kisses on his forehead and continues to encourage him.

"You're almost there, John. Just a few more pushes."

"The cord is clear," confirms the doctor. "On the next contraction you'll feel your baby rotate to make room for the shoulders. After the baby rotates I need another big push so you can meet him or her. Okay?"

John nods once more and gets ready for the imminent contraction. After another half a minute John feels the contraction starting. He twists with the uncomfortable sensation of his baby rotating and finally he hears the doctor's command,

"Push, John."

John gathers up the last bit of strength he has and pushes. He shouts as he feels one shoulder and then the other pop free.

"One more and you can hold your baby," encourages the doctor.

John pushes once more and Sherlock watches in amazement as his baby enters the world. John lets out a breath of relief as he feels his baby leave his body.

"Congratulations, it's a boy!" the doctor announces. "Do you want to cut the cord, Sherlock?" he offers. Sherlock looks to John, not wanting to leave him but John smiles and lets go of his hands,

"Go," he urges, "I want to hold our son." Sherlock maneuvers his way out of the hospital bed and takes the scissors being offered to him by the nurse. He cuts between the two clamps and stares in awe at his son, who is exercising what can only be described as a healthy pair of lungs.

"I'm going to clean him up quick and bring him back to you," promises the nurse. Sherlock pulls up a chair next to John's bed and holds his hand as the placenta is delivered.

"How is he?" John asks.

"He's perfect."

"He sure is," confirms the nurse as she sets the swaddled baby on John's chest. "Perfect Apgar score, 3.6 kilos and 50.5 centimeters." John cradles his newborn son and his cries die down to little whimpers.

"Sherlock," is all John can manage to say as the tears well up in his eyes.

"I know, love," he responds as he lightly brushes his son's cheek.

"Do you have a name?" the nurse inquires.

"Yes," John replies, "Samuel. Samuel Lucas Watson-Holmes."

"Welcome to the family, Samuel," Sherlock whispers. He looks at John again, holding this precious gift, and he realizes John was right. There was nothing to worry about.


End file.
